


Reunion Story

by Axelex12



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Crush, Babies, Bed & Breakfast, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Dinner, Epilogue, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, French Kissing, Home, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kissing, Light Angst, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, Loving Marriage, MILFs, Marriage, Missionary Position, Morning After, Multiple Orgasms, Older Woman/Younger Man, Past Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Police, Police Procedural, Post-Break Up, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Divorce, Post-Graduation, Simultaneous Orgasm, Surprise Kissing, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teen Crush, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axelex12/pseuds/Axelex12
Summary: A 41-years old teacher and her former student (now 27-years old handsome cop) cross paths.Steve Rogers/Natasha RomanoffModern AU
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Reunion Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarabithia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/gifts), [heyfrenchfreudiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/gifts), [ym4yum1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ym4yum1/gifts).



"Steven Rogers is that you?"

The policeman looked up, after a moment his memories clicked with the image standing before him.

"Mrs. Rushman?"

"Yes, Steve, but I think you are old enough to call me Natasha."

"Gosh Mrs R... Natasha, I had no idea you were back in Spring Falls!"

"It's a boring story actually, Steve. I split from my husband Alexei two years ago and moved back home to take care of my aging mother."

"You look great, M... Natasha!"

"Thank you, Steve, I must say that you have grown into quite a handsome young man. How long has it been?"

"Well let's see, I had you sophomore year English, that would have been what? Eleven years ago?"

"I think that's right, Steve."

"I had such a crush on you back then!"

"Schoolboy crushes are an occupational hazard for female teachers. I suspect you were not alone, Steve."

"I'm sure I wasn't Natasha. You haven't changed a bit!"

"Liar and flatterer! I tried to instill honesty and sincerity in my charges."

"I'm totally serious, Natasha!"

"For the present, we will allow that fiction to stand, young man. What have you been up to since I saw you last?"

"Well, I graduated about the time you moved away. I went to State U. and majored in criminal justice. You will be happy to know, however, that I minored in English. I've written a few things, a half-dozen short stories and an essay or three in some small literary art magazines. Sometimes they can only pay me in extra copies of their magazines, but it is such a kick to see my name in print other than on police reports. Anyway, I joined the force three years ago and this year, my name was drawn to canvass this neighborhood and try to sell tickets to the policeman's raffle. First place is a Mac book Air. There are various other prizes including, ear pods, headphones, and Kindle Fires."

"How much are they, Steve?"

"Fifty bucks a ticket."

"That's a bit steep, Steve."

"Yes, but, the handsome police officer stared at the still enchanting willowy redhead, "you know what, Natasha? This one is or me, I'll buy two tickets and put your name on them!"

"Steve, that is a nice offer, but I can't allow you to do that."

"I WANT to do it, Natasha. I consider it a thank you to you for opening English literature to me."

"Again, with the flattery!"

"I'm serious, Natasha. Before I had you as a teacher, I was a reader, but not a deep one, you opened the world of literary allusion, translated Russian literature, metaphor, Shakespearian sonnets, allegory, and epiphany. You made me the writer and addict of words that I am today."

"Really, Steve?"

"Gospel truth."

"I'd like to read some of your work. There is no higher tribute for an English teacher then producing an authentic writer."

"I'd love to show you my writing, Natasha. Here's an idea. How about I pick you up when I get off duty at eight? We can find a quiet booth at Antonio's and you can take some time to assess my work, or at least get the flavor of it."

"Steve, people will talk."

"We are both adults now, Natasha. Principal Fury isn't watching anymore!"

The tall well-endowed fortyone-year-old teacher giggled and replied, "That much is certainly true! O.K. Steve it's a "date" though why you would want to be seen in public with an old hag like me is a real mystery. Won't your wife object?"

"I'm not married, Steve. The girl I was sweet on left me for a fireman."

"You, poor dear!"

"No, I think she did me a favor. See you at around eight-fifteen, remember that Antonio's has a strict dress code, wear something swanky."

"Oh, Steve! I will, though folks will probably think I'm your mother."

"I seriously doubt that Natasha!"

Officer Rogers continued to canvass the neighborhood but with little enthusiasm. His mind was focused or the past. Spring Falls High School, he was a tall, imposing, but terribly shy lad, who had few friends aside from books. At first, he was happy to be assigned to Mrs. Rushman's class simply because she was the prettiest teacher in the entire school. Steve took sidelong glances as Mrs. Rushman wrote on the white board. She always dressed smartly, in skirts that were nicely, but not overly tight and usually fell above her knees. She tried to keep the boys from focusing or her prodigious breasts by wearing blazers and oversized sweaters, without success. For the first two weeks of class, Steve focused on her pretty face, radiant crimson hair, and cat-like green eyes, hopelessly in love. Then, something peculiar happened. The words Mrs. Rushman was speaking began to percolate through his lust and began finding fertile soil in his soul. She had the class read "The Dead" by James Joyce and explained why it was considered the greatest short story in the history of the English language. Steve had been moved not only by the longing and ache of the story but also by Mrs. Rushman's elucidation and careful deconstructing of the plot and the devices Joyce used, along with great Russian novelists (Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, etc.). It was in Mrs. Rushman's class that Steve had decided that one day he would be a writer. He would write even if he never became famous because he was driven to it as sure as he was committed to breathing. His interest in police work came later. Even as a cadet at the academy, Steve read up or authors who had begun as cops, detectives, lawyers, or federal agents. Even working on a small-town force had breathed life into his stories which tended to be about down and out men and women with somber endings.

Steve returned to the station in an elated mood. He took a hundred-dollar bill from the wallet in his locker and inscribed Natasha Rushman's and address or them before tossing them into the sale money box with the few other tickets he had sold. He whistled while he showered in the locker room. The other guys tried to engage him in conversation. But Steve was not in their world. He thought about his encounter with Natasha this afternoon. The years had been exceptionally kind to her. She was still every bit as pretty as she had been in tenth grade! He hurried back to his apartment and into his best suit. After grabbing a satchel to house his writings, Steve realized he had just enough time to swing by Morrison's Florist and purchase a bouquet of roses and mums, two flowers that he recalled Mrs. Rushman had kept in vases in her classroom.

He arrived promptly, just as night was setting in. Nervously, he depressed the doorbell. Natasha answered the door in a midnight blue gown. It clung nicely to her anatomy. It did not have much in the way of décolletage, but it did have a slight slit up the left leg!

"Flowers, Steve?"

"I couldn't arrive empty-handed, Natasha, now could I?"

Natasha laughed nervously before vanishing from the vestibule a moment to place the flowers in water. She allowed Steve to take her arm and escort her to his car.

"You certainly are a gentleman, Steve. You seemed so shy when you were my student."

"I hadn't figured out who I wanted to be back then, Nat."

Steve settled Natasha in the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. He could not help but notice from the corner of his eye, that the slit in Natasha's dress exposed a bit of alabaster thigh!

"So, Natasha, how many children do you have?" he began.

"That is a bit of a sore subject, Steve. Alexei, my husband, was incapable of fathering children. I thought I could bear with it, but now that my time has essentially come and gone, the mutual grief is one of the reasons we broke up."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that, Natasha. You would have made a wonderful mother."

"Can we talk about something else, Steve, like when you first knew you were a writer?"

"Hold that thought, Natasha, Antonio's is just ahead."

"Holy cow! After living so long in the big city, I keep forgetting just how small this town is!"

"Spring Falls High draws from a large geographical base if you recall."

"Yes, Steve, I remember. The miles I had to drive sometimes for parent-teacher conferences!"

Steve again took Natasha's arm once his car was parked and both were or the sidewalk in front of Antonio's. Steve had had the foresight to phone ahead and reserve one of the quieter tables in the back, which the maître de obsequiously led them to.

Steve held the chair for Natasha before seating himself. Natasha smiled at Steve. He felt his insides suddenly go soft. After a long moment, Steve collected himself.

"Picking up where we left off, Natasha, I first knew that I would be a writer in your classroom."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously! You opened the world of literature to me. I knew that I had to create something that the English language offered the most expansive tapestry in the world!"

"Poetry, from shy Steve Rogers! My stars! And all that time in my classroom I thought you were focused only on my rack!"

Steve turned a brilliant scarlet for a moment. "Was it that obvious, Natasha?"

"I caught you undressing me with your eyes or more than one occasion."

Steve's mouth fell open in a wide "O."

Natasha laughed heartily, "You weren't alone young man, but unlike the other roues you shared the class with, I knew you were studying hard as well."

"I'm sorry, Natasha. I..."

"Think nothing of it. Time has made me consider it sort of flattering. You never gave me any real trouble. You were near the top of the class as I recall."

"Cindy Jenkins had a higher grade point average and her essay got published in Spring Falls High's literary art magazine, not mine!"

"Whatever happened to Cindy?"

"She lives by the railroad tracks. She has something like eight children and a husband who beats her when he is drunk which is often."

"Really?"

"Yes, on more than one occasion, I or one of my fellow officers have had to stop by her house because of a domestic abuse complaint. Cindy loves the bastard though and won't file an arrest warrant no matter how much we plead."

"That's terrible!"

"Yes, he never lays a hand on the kids and they are all seemingly well-fed and adequately taken care of so there is very little we can do."

"But Cindy was so smart and driven, I thought sure she would have a bright future!"

"Love is blind. It is also deaf, dumb, and stupid!"

"Certainly not ALL love, Steve!"

"Well, of course not, Nat."

The waiter took this moment to arrive. He took their drink orders and said that he would return in a moment for their selections. For several long moments, the age-disparate couple studied their menus.

"Dinner is on me, obviously, Nat. Have you decided what you want?"

"The fried calamari and linguini look divine!"

"I'm leaning towards the mussels marinara and the manicotti."

The waiter returned and took their orders before departing for the kitchen.

"So, where have you been published, Steve?"

Steve took a little magazine out of his satchel, which he had placed on the floor, and handed it across the table.

"Why, Steve! I'm familiar with this magazine. It is very prestigious!"

"Thank you, Natasha, but prestige does not have much spending power."

"Prestige is far better, Natasha than being a damned fiction factory, like James Patterson! He doesn't even write his own books; he just puts his name on them!"

Natasha read the contents page. "Harmony's Triumph" what is about, Steve?"

"It's a novella in which a woman from the wrong side of the tracks named Harmony and her repeated failures in love."

"What's triumphant about that?"

"Well, she has an epiphany at one point and realizes what a mess she has made of her life. She ends up at the bottom, but it is hinted that she will scale the mountain again and this time make it to the top."

"I had no idea you were so deep, Steve. Can I take this home and read it?"

"By all means!"

Steve produced another literary magazine.

"My story in this one won the Bridesburg Merit Award."

"Oh, Steve, that is wonderful, what does the award entail?"

"A nice plaque and seven hundred dollars in cash. The biggest prize I ever won. As I said, many of these magazines pay me in extra copies. I won't get rich selling to the artsy set. BUT I am learning a great deal about myself and my craft."

Their dinner arrived and for the next several moments the two savored their excellently prepared meals. Steve had a hard time not staring at Natasha Rushman. He noted some fine, almost imperceptible, lines in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth but they did not distract from her beauty in the least. She was still the sweet, intelligent, and alluring woman of Steve's past.

"Where do you see yourself as a writer in ten years?"

"Well, Nat, I recently started working on a novel, a change of pace. I'd like to crash the thrillers and the police procedurals in one go."

"Yes, you are a peace officer. You must have seen your share of danger, Steve."

"There is not too much crime here in town, I mostly chasing down petty buglers and pulling over speeders, although we did bust up meth lab, and once I cornered a miscreant trying to steal a couple of hundred pounds of building materials from the mercantile and he drew a knife or me!"

"You didn't have to shoot him did you, Steve?"

"No, I was wearing my Kevlar vest under my uniform, there was very little damage he could do to me with his weapon, so I let him get close to me and then cold-cocked him across the jaw. He fell like a sack of wet cement."

"I'm SO glad it ended that way, Steve. I can't picture you as a killer, even if it is in the line of duty."

"How DO you picture me, Natasha?"

The older woman flushed briefly before replying, "Well, you are tall, broad, and handsome. You have grown up a great deal since you were my student. You've gotten rid of that absurd haircut as well!"

"Hey, my haircut wasn't that bad,"

"It was atrocious, Steven Rogers! It made you look like some alien mutant."

"OK. I cede the point to you. What else do you think of me?"

"I think you are very sweet for looking past my age and taking me out as though I was a woman closer to your own age and confirming in such a marvelous way that my years in the classroom were not wasted."

"Fair enough."

"Now, Steve, the same question; what do you think of me?"

"I think you are wonderful, Natasha, intelligent, sensitive, and very beautiful."

"Beautiful, Steve?"

"Unquestionably!"

"But I'm almost old enough to be your mother!"

"So? Beauty has no age limit."

"Oh, Steve, you are full of surprises."

For a long moment, the two stared into each other's eyes both read the attraction and wonder exposed there. They ate in silence for a bit, for fear of shattering the moment.

The waiter arrived to clear away their plates and hand them the dessert menu.

"I see they still serve that scrumptious wild raspberry cobbler, Steve. Some things about this town never change."

"I'm going for the lemon meringue pie myself."

"So, have any of your stories been collected in anthologies?"

"I was in a Pushcart collection once!"

"Oh, Steve, I have to see it."

"Unfortunately, I left it back at my apartment."

"Too, bad, what was the story?"

"Triphammer Summer, a heatwave causes a small depression-era city to erupt in violence and rage. It has a kaleidoscope view of events sort of like Rashomon."

"Now I definitely want to read that story!"

The waiter returned for only a moment before vanishing once more and returning with the desserts.

Steve watched Natasha take a bite. "Say that does look delicious, Natasha. May I have a taste?"

Natasha plunged her spoon into the cobbler and extended her arm across the table. Steve leaned in and took the tip of the spoon into his own mouth.

"Wow! I can see why you like this so much."

"Can I try a bit of your pie, Steve?"

This time the spoon journey traveled in the opposite direction.

"Very good but I'll stick to my cobbler."

The two shared a laugh and then ate with diligence and silence as they savored finishing off the climax of the meal.

When the waiter returned with the check, Steve paid in cash and left a hefty tip.

"Police work must pay well, Steve," observed Natasha.

"I have no complaints. I also have no dependents."

"Not even a dog?"

"Well, I do have a large saltwater tank of tropical fish."

"Something unobtrusive, so as not to interfere with your work, I suppose."

"Saltwater tanks take plenty of work! My apartment won't allow furry pets, but yes, nothing worse than being in the flow of words and having Fido yapping to go for a walk. I can't turn it or and off like Lester Dent."

"Lester Dent?"

"Old-time pulp writer, he wrote those Doc Savage novels you saw in my backpack and cast aspersions on. Anyway, he had dozens of typewriters set up all around his house and he would work on one story for a bit, then move to another typewriter and work or another story and so on. He churned out nearly a million words a year that way."

"Amazing!"

"Yeah, too bad the pulps are out of business, I feel like I could have thrived in the writing arena of the 30s and 40s, been a full-time penny a word maestro."

"Perhaps both of us were born in the wrong era, Steve."

"What's your dream era, Natasha?"

"The 20s! Hobnobbing with F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway in Paris. I would have made a grade A muse slash flapper!"

Steve laughed and replied, "Well you certainly have the legs for it!"

"Steve!"

"Hey, Nat. I wasn't blind when I was your student and I'm not blind now."

The older woman got a faraway look in her eyes and returned with, "You really think I am beautiful, Steve? Those weren't just flattering words?"

"I've never been more sincere in my life."

Natasha looked first at Steve and then down or the table. To Steve, her lovely face suddenly became an unreadable mask.

"Let's get some air, Natasha," he said as he retrieved his satchel and placed the various magazines back inside it.

He held Natasha's chair and they returned to his car. The moon was out. Steve opened the moon roof, letting in the sweet southwestern air. He had no set destination and Natasha was still in her reverie, so he drove to the overlook by the abandoned quarry. The small-town lights glistened like diamonds strewn across a sable coat.

"Penny for your thoughts, Natasha." He stated at last.

"Nothing Steve, I was just imagining the impossible."

"Such as walking on the moon sans spacesuit?"

"Nothing like that, Steve."

The moon provided just enough illumination for him to gaze into her eyes. He saw something there that he, young as he was, had seen many times before. Mentally, he reminded himself that this could be the start of something big or else the universe would strike him with the force of a collapsing wall. Steve was a fairly successful gambler. He leaned over and drew Nat's face towards his own lips and planted a soft, delicate, and very sincere one or hers.

"Steve?" she said in a breathless voice.

"Nat?"

"Steve..." He leaned in and kissed her a second time. She did not resist at all.

"Now we've stepped in it," she said as their osculation broke.

"We have, haven't we. I have no regrets. How about you?"

"I'm still thinking about it, Steve."

Their third kiss was the best so far.

"Steve, can we go somewhere? This place is where teenagers go to neck."

"We can go to my apartment. I can introduce you to my fish, let you read my story in the anthology."

"I suppose so, Steve. My mother is settled for the night. But I don't want you to think that I am ordinarily the sort of woman who goes home with a man on the first date."

"I never imagined you were, Natasha."

After another few kisses, Steve put his car in gear and drove home. The silence was sweet and deep as they drove the few miles to Steve's upscale apartment. Natasha was delighted to find it attractively, if spartanly furnished. The fish tank was quite large, at least twenty gallons, and contained sea anemones and clownfish among other beautifully scaled species. In one corner of the living room was a modern-looking chair and desk, or which sat a Macintosh computer and writers reference books.

"Quite an age, isn't it, Natasha? No wads of paper overfilling the wastebasket. No need to throw anything away really. Some of the really bad ideas can turn into terrific stories later. In the old days they would have been lost forever. I still use some of what you taught me. I keep a list of words that I frequently misspell. Yeah, editing software helps me catch them but why not get it right the first time?"

"It's a lovely apartment, Steve. Where is your bathroom?"

"End of the hall, just past the bedroom. Would you like a drink?"

"Just tea for now Earl Grey if you have it."

"Right O."

Natasha made her way to the bathroom and found it spotless and white on white with brass fixtures. "Either Steve is an atypical bachelor, or he has a cleaning woman," concluded Natasha to herself once the door was closed behind her. On the way back from the bathroom, out of sheer curiosity, she stuck her head in Steve's bedroom and flicked the wall switch. The room was neat as a pin. There was a huge overflowing bookshelf, most of them hardbacks. Above the huge bed hung a framed portrait of A. Conan Doyle standing next to Harry Houdini and a framed poster of a policeman and policewoman in dress uniforms under which was printed in bold type "Remember, to protect and to serve applies to everyone!"

"This lad is full of surprises," thought Natasha as she made her way back to the living room. Waiting for her was a steeping cup of tea on a small table beside a very comfy looking empty chair. Or the table, bookmark jutting out was a short story collection.

"How thoughtful, Steve," said Natasha sincerely as she kicked off her heels and settled into the chair.

"I'll do a little work while you read. Pretend I'm not here but call if you need anything."

Steve settled himself behind the computer and began softly typing.

Natasha immediately fell into the story. The writing was superb, picturesque without being verbose, yet also earthy with authentic dialogue and a plot that just pulled you in. As the perspectives changed so did the character's voice without a false note in any one of them. He captured black female voices, immigrant voices, waspy bankers, and beat cops to perfection. When it was over, Natasha had authentic tears in her eyes from being so thoroughly moved emotionally.

"Oh. Steve this is wonderful! You are an authentically gifted writer."

"People have told me that before, but I never believed it until I heard it from your lips, Natasha."

"Steve, you really shouldn't put me up or a pedestal."

"Why not? What did Steve Martin say? "I believe in putting a woman or a pedestal high enough to see up her skirt."

"Steve, be serious."

"I am serious, Natasha, this has been the most rewarding and wonderful date I have ever been on."

After a pause, Natasha returned with, "I feel the same way, Steve. To think, that a simple woman like me could inspire writing like this."

"There is nothing simple about you, Nat."

Steve bent down and they exchanged the most scintillating kiss thus far.

"Oh, Steve. My head is swimming and I had almost nothing to drink at dinner."

"My head is swimming too. Maybe a bit of rum and coke for both of us will clear our heads."

"Unlikely, Steve, but sure."

After her provided the drinks, both sat or the couch while Steve opened the album in which he kept his rejection letters, his acceptance letters, his awards and reviews.

It was quite cozy or the couch. Steve divested himself of his coat and tie. A few more kisses were exchanged.

"Tell me about the girl you were sweet or, the one that left you."

"It's not much of a story really. We lived together for about six months. She accompanied me to the policeman and fireman convention in Las Vegas and met Joel."

"Joel?"

"He was a smokejumper from California. Apparently, Sharon Carter, that's the girl I was seeing, got his number and began texting him on the sly. I mean how can I compete with a six-foot-four gorilla who parachutes into wildfires! Anyway, one day I came home and found a "dear John" letter on the bathroom mirror and all her stuff was gone. At least she mailed back her key."

"Silly girl. I think you are divine, Steve. What was she like?"

"Tall, like you, but with blonde hair and brown eyes. I totally misread her though."

"That's a shame, Steve, but you are still young. Was she pretty?"

"Nowhere near as beautiful as you, Natasha."

"More flattery."

Steve leaned in and kissed Nat anew.

"I defy you to find insincerity in that kiss."

"Steve..."

Whatever Natasha was going to say next was cut off by another kiss. Steve's arms were around her and Natasha was unresisting in them. Their kisses became even more intense with deep mutual Frenching and sighs between the meeting of lips. Steve's right hand found its way beyond the slit in Nat's dress and he began stroking and squeezing her nylon clad thigh. Natasha felt the zipper of her dress being lowered. Part of her said she should break this off now. The other part of her was fascinated by the feel of the impressive bulge in Steve's tailored slacks!

As for Steve, he was more turned or than he had ever been in his life. Not only were all the old schoolboy fantasies unspooling in his mind, he was also caught up in the here and now. Nat was no mere girl like Sharon. She was a woman through and through. Older, sophisticated, and a true valuer of his talent as a writer and him as a person. He tried to urge his mind to not rush things, but his youth won out. His fervid hands reached beyond the bodice of her dress and into her bra. There, she was firm and full and so, so, much woman!

Nat's hands were working the buttons of Steve's shirt now, delighted upon opening it to find firm pectoral muscles and real abdominal definition, light years apart from her flabby, hollow chested ex-husband! She broke away from Steve's lips and began kissing his chest, teasing his nipples with her teeth while Steve sighed with pleasure. Steve removed his hand from Natasha's bra as she slid between his thighs and her kissing progressed lower. Natasha recalled conversations in the teacher's lounge. Away from student ears she and her fellow female teachers discussed the attractiveness and merits of various boys in the school. Of course, they were all off-limits, but a little harmless fantasizing never hurt anyone. Most of Natasha's fellow teachers went for the preppy college types without acne or the various football players and basketball players, but Natasha always fixated or the shy and nerdy types, the deep thinkers, who when they became men, would know exactly how to please a woman. Steve was the best of both worlds, the sensitivity of a nerd with the body of an athlete! She recalled Steve in those days, true, he had a haircut sense that did him no favors, but even then, she could see that he would be tall and broad-shouldered. He was, in truth, one of her favorite students that year. She felt that she had actually reached him and taught him a thing or two. Never had she imagined though that she had had such an outsized impact on his life. It was the most wonderful gift the teaching profession had ever given her. So many of the faces that passed through her classrooms were content to do only what was necessary to pass the class. Even many of the "scholars" phoned it in most of the time. Steve had stood out, but he also been shy and unsure of himself, at least Natasha perceived him that way.

That Steve would grow up to be so damned handsome and sexy, she never could have imagined. His skin was clear now and his haircut was stylish and flattering. His deep brown eyes above his manly chin were positively dreamy. Even his walk was alluring, an almost military strut that emphasized just how shapely was his butt! And those muscles!

Her hands found their way to Steve's belt buckle. He raised his pelvis from the couch so she could unclasp the belt and unfasten his pants. She wondered what had come over her. In so many ways, this was like her very first time, yet it somehow also came packed with a life's worth of experience. She tugged down Steve's pants and undershorts. There was the penis of one of her students, fully erect and rather handsome. Natasha noted that Steve kept his privates shaved as her tongue traveled from balls, to shaft, to tip. A few gentle tugs and she took him inside her mouth. He tasted delightful. Her head began sliding up and down. Steve stroked her hair at first, noting how her golden barrette twinkled in the crimson curls before he simply leaned his head back and savored the moment. Natasha was far more talented and eager than Sharon or any of the other girls who had given her head had ever been. He felt as though his entire persona, his soul, his desires, and his future were residing in his cock at that moment, being urged out but Nat's entreating mouth.

And then, far too quickly for either of them, Steve exploded all over the inside of Natasha's mouth. The former teacher gamely swallowed the load. Steve was far from bitter, as was the case with most men. Whatever the reason, his seed slid delightfully down her throat.

"Oh, Nat! Come here!'

He pulled her from the floor and placed her or his lap. Immediately, their lips came together. The no longer secured gown tumbled down Nat's shoulders, she extracted her arms and wrapped them around Steve's wide, powerful chest. His hands maneuvered up her back to deftly unclasp her bra. Natasha subtly leaned back just enough for Steve to tug it away. Steve gazed down just before their bodies came together again. There, for a fraction of a second was the beautiful Mrs. Rushman's bared to his amazed tenth-grade eyes. They did not disappoint in the least. Then their lips were locked once more while each of them explored the naked torso of the other. The atmosphere in the living room became positively tropical. Steve arose from the couch and gently placed Natasha back upon her nylon clad feet. He took her hand and silently led her to his bedroom. Along the way, Natasha allowed her dress to slide the rest of the way as she walked out of it. From the corner of his eye, Steve noted that his former teacher was wearing black lacy panties and nude thigh-high, self-supporting stockings. "Man, o man, has she got fantastic legs that go all the way up!" thought Steve's lusty part of brain. Only the earth literally opening up and swallowing him could prevent him from doing what he intended; tomorrow be damned! Steve held up his pants with his left hand.

They reached the bedroom. Steve pulled his feet from his broughams and stepped out of his pants. His shirt had been lost on the couch. Now he stood, proud and unashamed before one of his teachers. It was a situation that he could never have imagined would occur in reality. He caught Natasha eyeing and assessing him. She nodded, flushed a bit, and began unrolling the nylons from her incredible legs.

Steve stood in a besotted daze as he watched Natasha. Her large breasts were adorned with light brown areolas and chance pink nipples. Below the left, to the utter shock of Natasha was tattooed the phrase, "Touch lives, be a teacher." While Steve was absorbing this information. Nat wriggled out of her panties, revealing a neatly trimmed thatch of crimson curls. Nat was an authentic redhead through and through! Nat made a slow complete turn for Steve's benefit before giggling and rushing under the sheets of the bed. Steve followed in hot pursuit. She was easily caught, and the middle-aged woman and the twenty-seven-year-old man explored each other's bodies, from brow to great toe, in mutual bliss and wonder. Natasha had never slept with a man so young, nor had she ever before slept with a man so physically fit. Steve had never before been with a much older woman, nor had ever been with one so beguilingly beautiful.

Natasha slid her body atop Steve's and with a beatific smile, began impaling her crimson box upon his shaven rod. Steve found her surprisingly tight and incredibly warm. She was so wet, that the full length of him slid in like an eel entering its lair. He smiled, reached up with both hands, and began palpitating her amazing tits as Natasha began pistoning up and down. Steve followed her lead. Surely, this was a teachable moment.

She came just seconds before he did, emitting a long breath-filled "Steve!" and "Holy shit!" before collapsing upon him and relishing in his kisses. Natasha settled herself next to Steve and was immediately fast asleep. Steve, feeling exceptionally mellow and at one with the universe was not long in following.

**

Steve woke up smiling to find himself alone in bed but with the aroma of frying bacon in the air. Steve grabbed a pair of boxers from his underwear drawer and strode to the kitchen to find Nat wearing one of his oxford shirts and nothing else. She turned, smiled at him, and asked, "How do you like your eggs?"

"Sunnyside up."

There was a pause before Steve sat at the table in the kitchenette and began to slowly speak, "Look, Natasha, I'm sorry, I got carried away..."

"As I recall, we both did, young man. Don't tell me you have buyer's remorse?"

"No, not at all."

"If you didn't have to get me back to my mother's place pretty soon, I'd have already rocked your world a second time and a third time."

The blonde-haired cop laughed, "I don't doubt that Nat. I don't doubt that at all. I have to report for duty in an hour and a half anyway. Care to join me for a shower?"

"That's kid stuff, Steve! Besides, I've already had mine. Had a devil of a time keeping my hair dry. It is pretty warm in there still. I filled your bathroom with steam and hung my gown in there to reduce the wrinkles."

She presented the bacon, eggs, buttered toast, and orange juice.

"It looks delicious, Nat!"

"Not only am I willing to suck you off and fuck you, but I'm also aces in the kitchen. You hit the jackpot, youngster."

"That I know Mrs. Rushman, that I know!"

Then both threw their heads back and had a hearty laugh.

**

It had been a whirlwind year. Every time Natasha gazed down upon her infant twins, she had to pinch herself to prove that she wasn't dreaming. They had bought the rambling Perkins' place or the outskirts of town. It was technically within the city limits of Spring Falls, a requirement of Steve's job. The house had enough bedrooms for the twins when they got older, and Natasha's mother who ruled the first-floor bedroom and wolf-whistled whenever Steve happened to stride past her open door. The burdens of marriage and fatherhood and the added responsibility of Natasha's mother meant that Steve now had far less time to write. Natasha was adamant however that he commit himself to at least a thousand words a day whenever possible. She made sure he got the time he needed. Seeing Steve at work stoked something deep inside Natasha, her almost forgotten desire to write herself. Her days of cobbling together the great American novel still seemed beyond her, but if she started small... In the quiet moments when the kids were asleep, her mother quiet, and Steve on the night shift, Natasha worked or her manuscript. It was a romance about a vivacious new teacher who breaks with all convention and begins a torrid affair with one of her students!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave Kudos.


End file.
